Lonely
by Sazuka57
Summary: Laurent seeks out his father in lonely desperation (pre-game).


**Lonely**

It was cold in Ferox.

Laurent never quite believed that there was anything colder than the long Ylissean winters he spent holed up in wreckages of old houses with only the threadbare clothes on his back and his tomes to keep him alive. But now, he had a nice thick coat and a scarf and gloves, and he was holed up in a tavern with a warm drink in his hands, yet it still felt as though he was freezing in the middle of the Feroxi snowstorm. His nose was so cold that he was afraid it would fall off, even though he knew it was scientifically impossible.

The other people in the bar seemed to pay the cold no mind, however, as they laughed and yelled and acted like the lively bunch that they were, which annoyed Laurent. He was partially fascinated at how they were able to adapt to the harsh weather, but he was mostly jealous that they were warm and he was not. But it wasn't going to matter soon, he thought as he shivered, he was waiting on something to happen—someone to come along, and then….and then he didn't know. He just knew that it was going to be something good, and he has traveled to Ferox riding on the hope of that something good happening. It was completely unscientific of him, he knew, but this was something that had taken over his heart, and, in turn, his mind, and he had to see it through.

If it wasn't for the cheerful shouts that rang out, he would have completely missed the arrival of the newcomers as he was buried too deeply in his own mind. His heart fluttered and lodged itself in his throat as he looked for the newcomers within the crowd. He caught sight of them by the chairs closest to the fireplace, with warm cheers and congratulations crowding them as they were sitting down. The West-Khan, who looked much more ferocious than he had imagined him to be, wore a content, smug expression as he got comfortable in his chair. Next to him—and Laurent was almost breathless in excitement—was Lon'qu, his father. The man looked younger than Laurent remembered him, and he looked more relaxed and at ease than the last time Laurent saw him.

The two men regaled the tale of Lon'qu's recent victory in the arena as the bartender served them, but Laurent didn't pay attention. He was too busy gathering his thoughts as he walked over to them. He didn't know what he would say exactly. He would start by introducing himself, then maybe ask to speak to Lon'qu in private and—

He was jolted from his thoughts as someone slammed into him from behind. Laurent was a smaller man than most, and as such he was knocked off of his feet and thrown forward, where he tripped over a chair and landed face first between the two large chairs that seated the West-Khan and his champion. His glasses and his tome flew off in different directions, and, if it wasn't for the fact that he couldn't see, Laurent would have run away in mortified embarrassment. As it was, he pawed the ground for his glasses as his face flushed in embarrassment, fleetly recognizing the fact that the room had gone quiet with his disgraceful accident.

When he finally placed his glasses, he found that everyone in the crowd was staring at him in cautious curiosity. He stood up slowly, scanning the floor for his tome as he tried to collect his thoughts.

"Looking for this?" Khan Basilio's voice rang out. Laurent blinked at him before noticing that the man had his foot over his tome.

"Yes, I…" Laurent cleared his throat, "I apologize for that mishap."

The room was quiet once more, and Laurent fidgeted uncomfortably as the silenced stretched on. His eyes kept flitting towards Lon'qu reflexively as he wished for the man to speak up on his behalf. The Khan was sharper than Laurent had given him credit for, however, and noticed the eye movement.

"Someone you know, Lon'qu?" Basilio asked his champion.

"Never seen him before," Lon'qu replied coldly and Laurent's blood froze in his veins.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him. What had he been thinking, coming here? Why was he trying to meet his father before the appointed time? Did he really believe that the man before him—the man that had yet to learn what Risen were—would accept his explanation? How could he have been so foolish? How did he let his hope blind him so?

"I. I should go," Laurent choked out. His voice sounded strangled even to his own ears, and he couldn't bear it any longer. He took a few steps towards the door before the West-Khan spoke.

"Leaving without this?" The Khan waved the tome above his head, and Laurent stared at the magical book. That particular tome was the last thing he had of his mother's, and he never let it out of his sight. Now, however, he desperately needed to be away from everyone—especially his father.

He ran out the door and didn't stop until the pub was hidden behind a dozen or so buildings. Laurent sank against the wall of a random home and buried his head into his knees. He didn't care that he was sitting in freshly fallen snow, or that it was soaking his clothes. The outside world didn't matter to him at all as he fell into the coldness of his despair, remembering how harsh it was compared to the cold winters. He remembered the frigid feeling of loneliness that drove him to the warmth of hope, and how hope had let him down in the end. He sat there, cold inside and out, as he forced himself not to cry by a twisted instinct of self-preservation—the Risen had keen hearing, and crying would have given him away back then.

The same instinct made him tense and look up when he heard the crunch of snow under boots. His throat lodged itself in his throat at the sight of his father walking towards him. He barely managed to stand up before the man was upon him, thrusting his mother's tome at him.

"For you," Lon'qu growled. As soon as Laurent accepted the tome, the Khan's champion turned around and started walking away. Laurent tried to thank the man, he really did, but his voice refused to function, even as he mouthed the words 'wait!' and 'thank you' after his father. He gave up when the man was out of earshot, and instead stared at the tome in his hands as loneliness gripped him again.

He sighed heavily and shook his head. It was cold in Ferox. Too cold. But it was not as cold as the loneliness and despair that gripped him from time to time, and frankly, he was growing sick and tired of the cold.

Laurent set his lips into a hard line as he started walking. He was going to leave Ferox and go somewhere warm, maybe even somewhere hot, where the cold of his loneliness would be overcome by the sheer heat in the air. He would also keep busy and maybe go on an adventure or two until the time he was needed in this timeline. His mother did mention in her journal a few places of interest he could visit…


End file.
